Chapter 5 - The Midnight Intruder in the West Wing
The space between us vanished before I could process the gravity of his words.
When Victor’s lips met mine, it wasn't a tentative, hesitant gesture. It was hungry, desperate, and laden with the raw, suppressed tension of a man who lived every day on the edge of a blade. My hands instinctively reached up, gripping the lapels of his shirt as a jolt of electricity shot straight down my spine.
For a few stolen seconds, the assassins, the syndicate wars, and the crushing weight of Liam’s debts ceased to exist. There was only the heat of the fire, the scent of bourbon and cedarwood, and the fierce, protective strength of the man holding me.
Suddenly, a sharp, metallic clink echoed from the hallway outside the study.
Victor pulled back instantly, his hand dropping to the heavy pistol holstered discreetly inside his waistband. In a fraction of a second, the vulnerable man was gone, replaced once more by the ruthless syndicate boss.
“Stay behind the desk,” Victor commanded in a harsh whisper.
He moved toward the heavy oak door with the silent, predatory grace of a panther, pulling his weapon free. He wrenched the door open and stepped out into the dark corridor.
I held my breath, pressing my back flat against the wall behind the mahogany desk.
Thud.
A muffled groan echoed from the hallway, followed by the sound of a heavy body hitting the marble floor.
“Clear,” Victor’s voice called back into the study.
I stood up slowly and crept out into the hallway.
Lying unconscious on the floor just a few yards from the study door was one of the estate’s junior footmen—a young man named Lucas who had worked there for barely a month. In his slack, unmoving hand, he clutched a silenced pistol and a small black data drive.
Victor knelt beside the unconscious man, kicking the gun away across the marble. He pried the data drive from Lucas's fingers and stood up, his face carved from ice.
“Another sleeper,” Victor muttered, his voice shaking with suppressed fury. “They’re crawling through the floorboards.”
“What’s on that drive?” I asked, stepping closer.
“Everything,” Victor said grimly. “Encryption keys to our off-site accounts, patrol schedules, and security vulnerability reports. If this reaches the council in Sicily, my entire operation goes up in smoke by morning.”
“What are you going to do?”
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Victor looked down at me, his dark eyes softening just a fraction as he saw the genuine concern etched across my face.
“I’m going to end this,” Victor said quietly. He reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me back inside the safety of the study. “Pack a small bag, Emily. We’re leaving the mansion.”
